Reflections upon grief and loss
Reflections upon grief and loss
The Japanese writer Haruki Murakami wrote that “Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it” and his insight is ever present, in the therapeutic space of a counsellor’s room. Many client’s decision to first see a counsellor is in response to the crippling loss of a loved one. Still, more are surprised to discover, that despite their best attempts to repress past feelings and move on, unresolved grief is at the heart of their current, apparently unrelated, difficulties.
Soon after I first qualified as a therapist, I was asked to meet with a young, five-year-old girl – Serena* - and it was Serena that taught me much of what I now know about loss. Serena was referred to me because her behaviour at home had become unmanageable and she was finding it increasingly difficult to attend school. It appeared that everyone was concerned about Serena - she was angry, disruptive, and clearly desperately unhappy.
Serena was a bright, imaginative, and energetic little girl, who had, in the first five years of her short life, experienced more loss and death than many adults might experience in a lifetime. Of particular tragic significance was the recent, sudden, and unexpected death of Serena’s maternal grandmother, followed shortly after by the death of her aunty, after a prolonged and devastating illness. In addition, soon after both deaths, Serena’s father was sent to prison for a long, custodial sentence following a violent assault. As adults, we often try to deny the impact and painfulness of death by using euphemisms, a tendency which is used with even greater alacrity when talking to children; thus Serena had been told that her loved ones had “passed away” or “gone to a better place” and that they were now “in heaven” or “with grandad” or “with Juno (her pet dog), or “gone to Jesus”.
Serena's mum, desperate to maintain her daughter’s love of her father, could not bear to tell Serena that her daddy was in prison. Instead, she explained that daddy had "gone away for a long time, but that he would write to her occasionally". Serena’s mum had nothing but the best interests of her daughter at heart, but her words proved particularly confusing. If daddy had gone away and would be writing to her, why would her grandma or her auntie not be doing the same? Had she done something wrong, or something to upset them? To Serena’s young mind, the loss of her father was as confusing and disorientating as the loss of her aunt and her grandmother. Serena’s mum, paralysed by her own grief, was barely available physically or emotionally to help Serena navigate what was happening in her life and Serena carried the injury of her losses alone.
When I first started working with Serena, she was very wary of me (was I yet another adult that would prove to be unreliable?), the loss of our loved ones can leave us anxious about letting others get too close, in case we lose them too. However, with time, Serena began to trust in the consistency and reliability of our sessions together; she began to believe that I might be a steady presence who might help her navigate her turbulent emotions. Serena needed to know that there was someone who was willing to sit alongside her, to witness and join her in her pain and her confusion, without trying to make her feel better or to distract her from her feelings. She needed to be given an opportunity to do the work of grieving and as her therapist she eventually put her trust in me, that I might accompany her on her journey.
Once Serena gave herself the permission to release her grief and feel her pain, it was clear why she had been so angry, unhappy, and disruptive. Our natural tendency is to avoid those things that make us suffer, but ironically it is often the things that we do to avoid our pain, that eventually damage us the most. Children of Serena’s age tend not to have the cognitive and verbal ability to communicate thoughts and feelings in words, but they are wonderfully capable of play. Through the process of play, Serena was able to communicate her unconscious thoughts and feelings; particularly those feelings and experiences that seemed too painful for expression.
The process of grief is not a linear process; there is a myriad of different routes along which we might travel, in our experience of grief. Whilst there will always be areas of commonality – questioning our assumptions about life, experiencing and expressing our anger, remembering and internalising our loved ones – grief is always unique to each person. Serena’s grief was explored through the metaphor of role-play. Each week, she gathered together a cast of Duplo, Lego, and Playmobil men, women, and children, all of whom were given names such as mum, dad, nana, aunty, grandpa, etc. Each week, the characters of her drama would be carefully placed in a circle around the edges of a sand tray that I kept in my consulting room. Each session, a new narrative would unfold in the centre of this circle of people, as she buried a chosen character under a mound of sand reminiscent of a grave, which she then decorated with stones, gems and toy flowers. Week after week the scene would appear to be the same, but something subtly different would always happen. Often, the buried character – sometimes for example, mum or dad or nana – would lie beneath the sand and those surrounding the ‘grave’ would weep, Serena howling like a cat or a dog to illustrate the enormity of their grief. At other times the buried figure might suddenly emerge from the sand to the joy and happiness of the collected congregation; or the figure might stay buried in the sand, whilst those around speculated about what might have happened to their loved one – had she gone to heaven or was she still somewhere nearby, close to them? At other times, both the emergence, and the non-emergence of the buried figure would bring anger from the cast of onlookers, as they berated the buried figure for leaving them. Serena particularly identified with a Duplo character who had the same hair and eye colour as her, and this girl was often the figure that was buried in the sand, as Serena contemplated her own mortality and reflected upon what people might say if she were to die. After all, if her nana and aunty could die, might she die too?
Being a witness to Serena’s play was intense, painful and moving and I often worried about whether she would be able to re-enter the world of home, school and childhood after our sessions. However, the more Serena was able to express her confusion, anger, fear and sadness, the more able she was to reconnect with her mum at home, return to school, and begin playing with her friends. The expression of grief, no matter how painful, is the process that we need to go through in order to adjust to, and re-enter, the world in which our loved ones no longer exist. Perhaps in the final analysis ‘Pain and death are a part of life. To reject them is to reject life itself’ (Havelock Ellis).
*All names and identifiable characteristics have been changed to ensure the anonymity of the client.
Blog written by our Counsellor Tracy, who has over 20 years experience working with couples, children and young people.